Rythmic Slappings

Astinus, Master Historian of Ergoth, wrote of the day the Dome fell and the ruin that followed in the complete chronicles of the Second Age. The transition between the Age of Might and the Age of Night came and went like a late evening autumn thunderstorm.

“We had thought that the winter had come early that year as the horizon had begun to blacken like the bricks of a fresh hearth. Soon it seemed as if the sky itself had thickened and all sound fell from the air like an anvil from a table. The cold stillness felt unholy. As unease gave way trepidation and then to panic, nobles sent riders from all over Ergoth to the horizons through the desolated wastes that were left from the ”/wikis/the-great-dragon-war" class=“wiki-page-link”> The Great Dragon War to the Dome of Galdron. The pilgrimages had tapered off as people forgot about the sacrifice of Aric McDoal as generations never had to bear the burden of the dragon fear, never knew the smell of whole villages worth of flesh burning. The few riders that did return were clearly mad. They only muttered about the blackness of the Dome. Their bodies were misshapened and gnarled. The nobles sent scouts in force to watch the Dome. The stories returning from the skirmisher elements could not be believed. They had heard roaring from withthin the blackness and soon a surge had shot forth from the Dome. For miles around the epicenter trees were uprooted and lay flat, Rivers reversed course, Ice started fires, and the torches of the scouts in the night were icy cold flame. Something was amiss. Armies from kingdoms across the landscape mobilized to secure borders. Leaving their sleepy posts within their dusty keeps, the young and foolish convinced the more seasoned of the malice their neighbors must be harboring. All sense seemed to leave the powerful and Armies began to meet in pitched combat.